


Status: Success

by Celeste_19



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Allison is dead, BAMF Stiles, Djinni & Genies, F/M, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Pining Derek, Protective Derek, Tattoos, Torture, no malia, not sorry, sorry - Freeform, the dread doctors are terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:52:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste_19/pseuds/Celeste_19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is kidnapped, and it just happens to be at the time the pack is hunting the terrifying dread doctors. It had been almost a month before they defeated the monsters, finding Stiles in the process. But will he be the same? What did the psycho doctors do to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (sorry for a terrible intro!) Thanks for reading this! The first couple chapters will be Stiles POV, and how he faces the doctors. If you don't like Stiles in pain, or being tortured, please don't read. If you do, you came to the right place :). The chapters are a bit short but I will post them all ASAP! Warnings: Torture, pain, blood, gore, needles, knives, gore! Trigger warnings! Thanks again! ALSO! I got the idea of magical (djinni) Stiles by the fanfic "A Life for a Life, Makes the Whole World Bound" by augopher.

DAY 1:

Suffocating.

Drowning.

Stiles couldn't breathe, couldn't fill his lungs with the life source that was air. The first thing he recognized was that his wrists and knees were bound with thick rope. The second thing he realized, was that he was in an unfamiliar, metal room. All that accompanied him were a few cabinets filled with who-knows-what, and a metal table with thick leather straps in the center of the room. His blood ran cold, thinking back to his last memories; he walked into his room after a pack meeting, talking about their newest threat. His eyes opened wide and his heart rate picked up. 'No. Oh god not me!' Stiles thought.

Before he could start panicking any more, a creaking made his head whip to a large set of metal doors. They slid open harshly, and in walked his worst three nightmares, each carrying either syringes or knives. Now that he looked closer, they were actually scalpels. As they stepped closer and closer, Stiles realized that he was alone in all this, and that no one would be here in time to save him. Not this time.

\----------------------------------------------------------

DAY 5:

He prayed. One of the few times in his life, he prayed. He hadn't done it since, well, since him mom. She used to pray with him every night before he went to sleep. He smiled minutely, but was quickly shoved from his memories as another blade entered his body, peeling his skin back. He screamed, his arms and legs straining against the leather binds, his back arching off the metal table. He had lost count of how many injections, how many cuts, tears, breaks, had happened in the past days. Or had it been weeks? He wasn't for sure, since time didn't matter to him anymore.

His body was littered with scars, stitches, and every single one had a purpose to the doctors. They didn't deserve the name 'doctors. More like deranged psychos.

They were talking, but he couldn't hear them over the sound of his own beating heart. The blood was rushing through his ears, as it has been since he woke up in the room. They continued, as they did everyday, with their procedures. Using, scalpels, screws, burners, and a different assortment of needles. They would stay with him for hours at a time, injecting him with nutrients to keep him alive. At least that's what Stiles hoped that was in the syringes.

"Please, just kill me," Stiles whispered, his voice desperate and broken, but no answer ever came. Every time he spoke, they never answered back. The solitude was deafening. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

DAY 10:

He could feel the sizzle of his skin as they slowly poured the acid, soaking his legs and arms in the substance. No matter what they did, he never blacked out, couldn't get away from the pain. He knew the syringes didn't hold nutrients anymore, they were filled with pure adrenaline. His body buzzed as they continued their process. His face was slashed with cuts, his arms and legs burning with acid. His chest was left untouched today, much to his surprise. His chest seemed to be their favorite surface to cut in to. His ribcage had been pulled and pushed as they cut slivers in between each one yesterday. 'Maybe they're giving you a break.' Stiles thought in his muddled brain. He almost wished they would go back to his chest, because the acid eating his limbs was far worse.

No matter how harsh their tests and experiments were, he always woke up with just scars, or nothing. There was never a sign of what they had done the day before. His ribs were still on fire, but all that covered his chest were thin, white scars, each one trailing in between each rib bone.

The acid was gone now, but the burning hadn't disappeared yet. He didn't think he would ever get rid of the feeling of his skin burning off. The doctors backed away together, speaking in some hushed language Stiles couldn't begin to understand, turning to him as they spoke. They were talking about him, like they always did, and it pissed Stiles off, made him want to scream and run as far as he could away from this torture dungeon.

At once, they walked up to him, one carrying a syringe with a silver substance in it. He knows what this means, and doesn't let up a fight as they inject it into his neck. This liquid meant sleep, it meant escape from the days torture. He didn't know what it was, but Stiles was thankful for it. Stiles' mind started to wander as his body slowly numbed. The doctors left, locking the metal door behind them and shutting the lights off.

'I wonder if my friends are looking for me. Do they know I'm gone? Do they care?' Stile's thought, his mind finally going numb as he drifted into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever see any slip ups in the story or holes that I left out, please notify me so I can fix them! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Tears streamed down his face, his body protesting every movement, every breath. The third one walked up in front of him, he didn't even realize until he was toe to toe with the creature. Its' hand came from behind its' back, donning a sharp and new syringe, not filled with the usual silver liquid.
> 
> It looked as if it was glowing.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe y'all stuck around! Thanks everyone for reading! Warnings: needles, blood, gore, blindfolding, panic attacks. Triggering! Thanks again! This is the other half of Stile's stay with the doctors!

DAY 14:

They had allowed him some bread and water, instead of whatever the injected into him to keep him alive. He kept it down all of seven minutes.

His body was broken, probably unrecognizable underneath all the scars and bruising. His eyes burned as the overhead lights shined on, as they did every god forsaken day. His every growing headache made everything blurry and dull, making the other pains easier to handle. Today felt different though, seeing as the psychos didn't hold any sharp objects as they walked in. They marched up to his sides, unstrapping the tight leather bindings and laying him on the cool, cement ground. He couldn't fight their hands if he tried. There was no reason he should still be alive, yet here he was. Broken, but breathing.

They left him there for what felt like days, but might have been mere minutes, before they helped him up into a standing position, leaning him against the table. Why were they helping him? Was this a trap? He looked up into their faces, for the first time in days, and only saw the blank stares of the masks. Tears streamed down his face, his body protesting every movement, every breath. The third one walked up in front of him, he didn't even realize until he was toe to toe with the creature. Its' hand came from behind its' back, donning a sharp and new syringe, not filled with the usual silver liquid.

It looked as if it was glowing.

The blue substance seemed to dance, shimmering in the syringe. Stiles tried to pull back as the hand came to his neck, but the table behind him stopped his movement. The sharp sting hit his neck, and everything dulled. His knees hit the cement with a cringe-worthy thud, but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything. Before he could comprehend what was happening, everything started to turn black.

Before his body and sight gave out, he heard one final word come from the monsters' mouths, all in unison.

"Success.

\-------------------------------------------------------

DAY 16:

His eyes cracked open into darkness. He was still in the room, the torture chamber. This was different though. He wasn't on the table, the blinding lights weren't on, and the doctors were nowhere to be found. He was leaned against a wall, wearing nothing but his boxers. He looked down at himself, seeing the scars, but nothing as bad as he thought. No blood, no gashes, or even really bruises for that matter.

His head whipped up when the metal door creaked open, and in walked one, not three, doctor. Stiles pressed himself into the wall, feeling like he wanted to dissolve into it, away from this never ending nightmare. The doctor psycho stopped walking in front of him, crouching down and staring at Stiles with a blank stare. His hand came forward, trying to grab at Stiles.

"Get the hell away from me!" Stiles screamed, trying to shove away from the gloved hand, but was too weak to go far. The hand locked to his arm, dragging him out of the room, which was a huge surprise. He swiveled his head around, trying to see any familiar surroundings, but all he saw was a blank white hallway, lined with dozens of metal doors.

The other two psychos were at the end of the hall, and helped man-handle Stiles into a wheelchair, where he was strapped down and pushed into a white room. All that this room housed was a small table, holding an assortment of needles, guns, and glowing vials. Stiles forced air out of his lungs, trying to not panic as he thought of the different tortures that could be done with these simple tools. They rolled him next to the table, locking his wheels still. Next thing he knew, a cloth was shoved onto his face, over his eyes. He screamed out in panic, calling for help, for his pack, for anyone or thing that could hear him.

After hearing some rustling around him, a cloth was also tied around his mouth, gagging him. Still, he screamed through the cloth, tears streaking down his face. He heard the sound of buzzing, like a machine turning on, then Stiles was hit with an extremely sharp pain on his arm. All he could manage was muffled cries for the next few hours as the pain streaked down both arms, over his shoulders, and down the front of his chest. The pain was hot, more than he could handle. From his torso, the pain soaked through his legs, feeling as if he was being stabbed with fire.

He felt the back of his wheelchair shift and fall, leaving him slumped forward to hold himself up as pain etched over his back and up his neck. His vision had been blurring for a while, but when the pain etched up his neck and behind his ears, the darkness enveloped him, finally relieving him of this nightmare.

\-------------------------------------------------------

DAY 18:

He woke up to the sound of struggle. Stiles' eyes were still blindfolded, but his gag had been removed. He seemed to be sitting in a metal chair, different from the wheelchair, but still binding him down. His arms were stiff from the constant constraint, and his legs were no better. A crash startled him as he heard the metal doors of the room he was occupying smack the ground. He couldn't scream or call for help, his voice too hoarse and unused to work.

Hands were suddenly on him, and he heard muffled voices but nothing could be heard over his own heart beat. The hands were gentle, but he still panicked, unsure if this was another trick. He struggled against the loosening restraints. Finally, his arms and legs broke free, and he brought his fist out in defense, hoping to get contact with whoever was attacking him. He felt his knuckles make contact, and a muffled wheeze sounded in front of him. Stiles rushed to his feet, having a newfound energy source, a dying need to escape.

He ripped the blindfold from his eyes and ran forward, not seeing much because of the blinding light of the room. Hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him back. "Get off me you monsters!" Stiles finally found his voice, as he kicked his pained limbs out at the grabbing hands. There were three pairs on him, each holding his arms and sides.

"-iles. Stiles!" he heard someone yelling, sounding close to him. The hands gripped tighter, and he opened his eyes, not realizing he had even closed them, and looked to his sides. Derek's face crowded his vision, blurry, but recognizable. He whipped his head to his left side, seeing Scott, with an already healing black eye, and Lydia. In front of him was Liam, Kira, and Isaac, all in fighting stance at the door, guarding. His panic died down just as quickly as it appeared. His legs gave out, and Derek caught him. He let out a first sob, trying to breathe normally as his body fought back against the pain and fear that consumed him.

"I've got you. We're here Stiles. It's okay." He heard Derek speak. Scott came up behind him, helping support Stiles as they walked out of the torturous room, out of the halls and metal doors, and into the dark woods. For the first time, Stiles took in a deep breath, ignoring his burning lungs as he let the cool air consume him. He laughed as tears ran down his face. He was free, the doctors were gone, and he was safe. But still, a small thought filled his mind, a small feeling that his fight wasn't over.

They may be gone, but they had left their marks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -"What? What is it?" Stiles cracked out looking suspiciously at his friends. That abruptly stopped all conversation, as they all looked at him. He pulled his elbows to his sides, pulling himself up. Derek and Lydia put their hands on his head and chest, trying to stop him, but he was having none of that.
> 
> He sat up stiffly, his eyes closed as he struggled to catch his breath. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked down at his uncovered chest and arms. His throat clenched shut and his eyes googled, looking down at his covered body.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be adding more to this later! Just wanted to update ASAP! thanks everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy it! :)

The ride to Derek's loft was quiet, and for that Stiles was grateful. His body had finally ran out of energy, him laying in the back of Derek's Camaro, his head cushioned by Lydia's thighs. She was stroking his hair, her fingers running through the strands. Derek was driving, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. Scott, Kira, Isaac, and Liam all were stuffed into Stiles' jeep, following closely behind.

He was zoning in and out of consciousness, his body twitching and jerking with every bump the car hit on the road. Lydia ket murmuring comforting words, her eyes glued to his the whole trip, worry etched across her face. They pulled into the old loft soon, all piling out of the two vehicles. Scott was already on the phone with the Sheriff, updating him and telling him that he will call as soon as possible with more information. Derek carried Stiles bridal-style into the living room, laying him down on the couch and kneeling next to him.

Stiles was still vaguely conscious, and he tried sitting up, but Derek gently pushing him back down. "No, do not move," he heard Derek growl. Lydia came from behind the sourwolf, laying a blanket over his almost naked body. He hadn't realized that maybe his shaking was not just from the pain. He couldn't really tell the difference between the cold and pain anymore. Scott bounded over and started to talk to Stiles, but Derek stopped him abruptly, ordering him to call Deaton over. Scott nodded, walking out onto the front porch.

Liam, Kira, and Isaac were standing behind Derek, looking at Stiles with what almost could be perceived as awe. Derek kept sneaking glances at him as well, giving Stiles an uneasy feeling.

"What?" Stiles croaked, his voice breaking from lack of use. "Nothing. Nothing important. How do you feel? Deaton is on his way to help." Derek spoke, trying to sound soft.

"Bad," was all Stiles could muster up as an answer, and it was the truth. His throat was closing up due to the pain radiating around his body. He hadn't even realized how much pain he was in until then, until he was no longer cold or full of adrenaline. As he relaxed more, even more pain surfaced. A door opened out of his view.

"Deaton's on his way," he heard Scott speak, and watched Derek nod with relief. Lydia rounded to the edge of the couch, slipping under Stiles' head like in the car ride, carding her fingers through his hair in a soothing manor. He watched his group of friends, his pack, as they chatted silently to each other, all waiting for Deaton to show up. He didn't mention the fleeting glances toward Stiles, their eyes lingering on him too long for comfort. 'They were probably seeing all the scars and bruises,' Stiles thought, thinking to the last time he saw himself. Come to think of it, he hasn't seen his body since before they blindfolded him. He tilted his head and tried looking down, but Lydia's hand against his forehead stopped the movement.

"Please, let's wait for Deaton before you start to move," Lydia whispered softly, but there was a strain to her voice, something that wasn't right. Stiles examined her face, then at the others in the room. Derek was still next to him, trying not to glance over as he held a conversation with Liam, Scott, and Kira. Isaac was standing by the door, waiting for Deaton, and not daring to glance over in Stiles' direction.

"What? What is it?" Stiles cracked out, looking suspiciously at his friends. That abruptly stopped all conversation, as they all looked at him, their eyes locked on his face. He pulled his elbows to his sides, pushing himself up. Derek and Lydia put their hands on his chest and shoulders, but he was having none of that.

He sat up stiffly, his eyes closed as he struggled to catch his breath. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked down at his uncovered chest and arms. His throat clenched shut and his eyes grew wide in fear. He had expected the small cuts and long scars, but that's not what surprised him. What terrified him and brought him to the edge of a panic attack, was the black inked tattoos that covered every inch of his pale skin.

Each pattern was different, yet intertwined together smoothly, covering every expanse of skin. There were vines, knots, flowers, and words in languages he didn't even know how to translate, and that was just on his right arm. His breathing hitched and his heart beat skyrocketed to dangerous speeds. He slipped off the couch in panic, needing to get out, needing air. Derek caught him before he could fall face-first onto the hard floor, pulling him into a tight hug. 'Since when did Derek get so touchy?' Stiles thought in between each struggling breath. Derek kept his eyes off the rest of his body, enveloping him, grounding him.

"You're okay. We'll figure this out. Nothing to worry about." Derek repeated over and over again, Lydia rubbing his burning back. He knew there were tattoos on his back, could feel them, along with every other inch of his body. Derek pulled back after a couple minutes of silence, looking into Stiles' eyes with open concern.

The front door creaked open, and in walked Deaton, who was following Isaac to the living room. Stiles was now sitting on the couch being held up by Lydia beside him. Derek was still crouched in front of him, helping him breathe evenly.

"I'm going to need to know as much information possible," Deaton spoke, looking expectantly at Derek, not seeming to be fazed by Stiles covered neck-to-toe in tattoos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -His hand came forward, and Stiles didn't hear him say to open his mouth, didn't hear anything. He was back in the metal room, the creatures reaching for him, holding syringes in their gloved hands.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are great! This chapter is sad on Stiles' part :( Love you all and thanks for reading!

"We're not for sure what all happened, but Stiles was with them for around eighteen days." Derek tried explaining, not knowing much himself. He looked over to Stiles, who was looking like he was going to pass out. Deaton nodded, getting close to Stiles and kneeling down. He opened the bag he held and took out a few typical medical supplies. Lastly, he took out a pair of gloves, slipped them on, then grabbed a temperature thermometer.

His hand came forward, and Stiles didn't hear him say to open his mouth, didn't hear anything. He was back in the metal room, the creatures reaching for him, holding syringes in their covered hands. He screamed at them to stop, pulling his body forward and covering his face with his arms. He felt hands on him, and he yelled as the monsters grabbed him, pulling him towards them. Then, as quickly as it had started, it ended and he was pulled back to reality.

Lydia was hugging him from behind, and Derek had both his hands on Stiles' legs, keeping him from attacking anyone. Deaton already had the gloves off and hidden in his bag, understanding the obvious trigger. He had seen pictures of the dread doctors, he knew what they did. "Nothing to worry about, you're okay," Stiles heard Lydia. Everyone was telling him it was going to be okay, that he was okay, but it was lies. Nothing was alright. He was not okay.

With not much hassle after the first panic attack, Deaton finished his brisk evaluation. He stepped back and stood up, closing his bag with a snap.

"You're temperature is a little high, and some of your wounds are slightly infected. I will need to go back to my office and grab some supplies. Also, I believe some ribs are broken, as well as a concussion. Derek, will you talk with me for a second?" Deaton spoke smoothly, seeming normal. Deaton soon walked into the conjoining kitchen, Derek following.

"What is it? Something wrong?" Derek spoke quietly and quickly. Deaton shook his head, opening his bag and pulling out his evaluation sheet, handing it to Derek.

"Look at his temperatures, interior and exterior." Deaton spoke, looking worriedly at Derek. It was the most expressive he had ever seen Deaton in a long time. He looked down at the paper, finding the readings. 'He's...Freezing. Forty-Six degrees? Are you sure your equipment is working properly?" Derek gritted out, only finding the exterior temperature.

"That's not the worst reading. Look at the other reading. And no, my tools aren't broken." Deaton replied, pointing lower on the paper to show the interior temperature. Derek paused, unsure if he was reading this right. "One hundred and...one hundred and sixty-four?" Derek stuttered. Not even werewolves were that hot, and their core was much more heated than a humans. 

"Yes. It is very troubling. I'm unsure as to how this is happening, but I'll research." Deaton grabbed the paper and slipped it back into his bag. After containing their reactions, Deaton and Derek walked back out into the living room, where everyone stood waiting.

"I'll be back in the morning," Deaton spoke, walking out the front door. That left everyone staring at Derek, looking for answers. Yet he stayed silent, telling no one of the temperatures. Looking over to the couch, Derek was surprised to see that Stiles was still lucid, now laying down on the couch with Lydia.

"What is happening?" Stiles asked to no one in particular, turning his head into Lydia's leg for comfort. No one answered, no one had any answers.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

After about a half hour of random chatter between the group, Stiles drifted to sleep. He dreamed of darkness, and that was all that was around him. There was black surrounding him, enveloping him in a torturous hug. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't speak. Then, as if flicking on a switch, a small light suddenly appeared in front of him, far away. It was small, like a candle flame, but glowed a soft blue. The more he watched the flame, the bigger it became. Soon, Stiles' figured out it was a fireball. It was beautiful, and if he wasn't stuck in place, he would walk toward it. But it seemed he didn't have to, because it looked like the ball was moving, fast, and it was coming right at him.

He watched as the flames slammed against his chest like a brick wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. He gasped in pain, the first sound he's made, and bent forward, clutching his chest. His chest and body was covered in the tattoos, all lit up by the blue flames. They were burning, scorching him alive. His voice caught on, finally letting out a scream of agony. His body was finally released from the darkness, and he ran backwards, trying to escape the flames. He fell onto his butt, scooting back on his hands and knees until his back hit a wall that just happened to be there. The pain was tearing him apart, his tattoos seemed to take on a life of their own. He scratched and pulled at his skin, at the burning tattoos.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Scott and Kira left soon after Stiles had dozed off, wanting to get to sleep so they could come back early tomorrow morning. Liam and Isaac talked with Derek a few minutes more, before promising to be back tomorrow. Isaac wanted to give Stiles space, offering his room, deciding to spend the night at Liam's house. That left Derek, Lydia, and Stiles alone in the living room. Lydia decided to stay the night, wanting to make sure Derek didn't need any help and wanting to be with Stiles, make sure he was okay. Derek gave her access to one of the spare bedrooms and told her to get some sleep, she would need it tomorrow.

Lydia fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow. Derek was still sitting next to Stiles on the ground, his back leaning against the couch. Lydia and him decided it was best to not move Stiles from the couch, not wanting to further worsen his injuries. Derek started dozing off, now that everything was darker and quiet, his head falling back on the couch cushions.

A startling jerk behind him shook Derek awake, and he turned to see Stiles twitching and shaking, in a nightmare. Derek shuffled onto his knees and put his hands on Stiles' shoulders, trying to jostle him out of the dream. "Stiles. Stiles wake up," Derek whispered, but got no response, just more shaking. His eyes didn't open. Then, Derek felt the heat of Stiles under his palms, it was unnatural. He looked closer and saw the tattoos were, in a way, glowing. They were burning bright actually, and it left Derek's hands sizzling with heat.

He hissed and pulled his hands back, his palms not healing fast enough to keep holding on to the boy. Stiles cried out, his hands gripping at his own arms and chest. Derek watched with wide eyes as the tattoos took on a blueish hue, radiating over the black ink. His skin seemed on fire with the glowing color, Stiles arching off the couch in pain.

"Stiles! Wake up!" Derek was yelling now, not able to physically wake him up by touch anymore. He turned his head as footsteps entered the room, and saw Lydia standing, staring over to the couch in fear. She walked forward and reached for Stiles hand, but Derek stopped her, grabbing her wrist.

"Don't touch him, he's on fire," Derek growled, frustrated and worried. There was nothing they could do as they watched their friend writhe in pain.

"Call Deaton. Now! We don't have time to wait for the morning!" Derek yelled at Lydia, getting up and pacing in front of the couch. She ran back to her room, grabbing her phone and hitting speed dial. Stiles was moaning now, almost falling off the edge of the couch as he tossed around, trying to relieve the pain.

Just as fast as it had started, it ended, abrupt and without warning. Stiles stilled suddenly, the tattoos still glowing a bright blue. Derek got back on his knees, getting as close as he could to the boy without feeling the burning. Lydia ran back in, phone to ear, commanding Deaton come down immediately.

"Stiles? Please, Stiles, open your eyes," Derek pleaded, needing to know that the boy was okay. The boy did open his eyes, with a gasp, and stared straight ahead. Derek stared at the boys face, not believing his own eyes. Stiles eyes were, not normal at all.

He was awake, but his eyes, were hard to look at. They were bright, too bright, and they didn't fade. He stared forward the whole time, seeming frozen in pain. Lydia walked up, seeing the sudden stop in panic, and gasped in surprise, almost dropping the phone.

Replacing Stiles' normally brown eyes, was a bright blue, almost angelic color. There was no pupil, only the blue, and it seemed to be alive, swirling and smoking in Stiles' eyes. 'What the hell did they do to Stiles?' Derek panicked, thinking of anything with this color eye; any supernatural creature he could think of, yet none came to mind. 'What the hell is Stiles?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, everyone is supportive of Stiles' tattoos! Deaton, of course, could care less as well. They all know about it, but don't want to bring them up! That is why they aren't mentioned when Stiles is with the pack! Thanks


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -"Where does it hurt?" Lydia asked, and Stiles just shook his head.
> 
> "Everywhere," Stiles hissed in agony, his voice muffled by his hands, covering his face. After a few seconds, he pulled off the cloths covering him, becoming too hot for comfort. He heard Derek and Lydia gasp as they looked down at Stiles' legs and sides. 
> 
> Stiles looked down to see the red, flaming burns that covered his skin.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this taking a while! I needed to figure out where I wanted to go with the story! This chapter is a little shorter, and is more of an intro into the next few chapters. What do you think Stiles is?? Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

Deaton came as fast as he could, seeming to have expected something bad to happen tonight. What he didn't expect, as he walked through the door to the Hale loft, was the power radiating through the room. He was almost pushed back from the force. Derek called his name, snapping him out of thoughts. He walked into the living room and saw Derek kneeling in front of an awake Stiles, while Lydia paced back and forth impatiently behind him.

"What happened?" Deaton spoke warily, noting that the atmosphere felt strangely charged around Stiles. "He was having a nightmare, then he started to burn up like he was on fire, but there were no flames." Derek answered hurriedly, leaving out Stiles new eye color for now, as well as the fact that it was the tattoos that were burning, not all of Stiles. Deaton wrinkled his brow, deep in thought. He felt Derek wasn't telling all the information, but he wasn't going to pry. He walked up next to Stiles' side, kneeling down.

"Stiles, Im going to need you to sit up for a few minutes. I need to examine and make sure you aren't injured." Deaton spoke softly, putting his hand on the boys' shoulder. Immediately, he pulled his hand back in surprise at the heat coming off Stiles. Stiles stared at him, terror lacing over his face. His tattoos were still taking on a bluish hue.

"'m sorry," Stiles whispered, his body stiff, as if in pain. Derek shushed him, "No need to apologize. Not your fault." Deaton, with the help of Derek, pulled Stiles up to a sitting position , their hands becoming burned at the prolonged touch. "Do you have a bathtub close by you can fill with water?" Deaton asked, ideas running through his mind. Derek nodded confusingly, pointing to a closed door next to the kitchen. "We need to cool his temperature for me to be comfortable with his and our safety."

Derek picked up Stiles while Deaton grabbed the supplies he would need in the bathroom. Lydia stayed out in the living room, saying that she was going to call everyone with updates.

"Stiles, can you look at me?" Deaton spoke at the boy, being supported by Derek. Stiles warily looked up to the emissary, his eyes bloodshot and pained. Deaton started the chilly water, while Derek slowly laid Stiles in the tub, still fully clothed. Stiles head dropped down as the water filled the tub, his breathing becoming labored. They stopped the water as it reached Stiles' waist, looking to Stiles to make sure he was okay. Stiles seemed to gasp in agony with every movement he made in the water. He was in more pain now, but his core temperature was finally dropping to a more safe level. Deaton believed the act of moving Stiles after him being still for so long was the reason for the spike in pain.

"Okay, I'm going to start the evaluation," Deaton explained, wanting Stiles to trust him for once. Stiles just nodded, not showing any recognition on his face that he actually heard Deaton's words. Deaton laid out his supplies and started. Heart rate was high, but that was acceptable in this situation. Breathing was labored; also understandable.

"I'm going to check your dilation now," Deaton warned as he lifted his small flashlight to Stiles' face. The pupils dilated, like expected, but they didn't stop. Soon, they disappeared completely, until all that was left was Stiles' normal colored irises. Deaton stared, dumbfounded, as he looked into Stiles' eyes. Derek noticed as well, but didn't seem as surprised. "Stiles are you okay?" Deaton spoke carefully, and watched as Stiles' eyes twitched over to him confusingly. Somehow, Stiles could still see him without the pupils.

"Yeah, why?" Stiles spoke, his voice scratchy and confused. Deaton shook his head, turning to Derek. "You're going to have to tell me everything about what happened." Deaton was willing to pry this time, needing to know all the information. He could feel Stiles shifting behind him, in pain and wondering what was happening. Derek looked over to the tub, then started to tell about the eyes and the tattoos. Deaton listened intently, going through the lists in his head of all the supernatural creatures fitting Derek's description. His face lit with realization and he turned to Stiles, cutting Derek off from talking. "Get him out of the water." Deaton commanded.

Deaton grabbed the tub drain, getting rid of the water quickly, but Stiles was still soaking. Derek reacted as well, pulling Stiles out of the bath. "Clothes off! Where are your towels?" Deaton spoke quickly, only letting a thread of worry show on his face. Derek pointed to a set of cabinets holding the towels, holding the drenched boy in confusion. Deaton grabbed all the towels, bunching them on the group as Derek stripped Stiles down to his boxers. His clothes were soaking wet, laying in a clump on the ground.

"Bring him over here," Deaton spoke, finishing the makeshift bed of towels on the ground. Derek laid Stiles down on the towels helping Deaton pat down the boy.

"What is wrong?" Derek asked, seething with worry and anger. Deaton looked over to the alpha, seeming to not want to answer yet.

"Keep him dry. I need to do a little more research, but I have a few ideas as to what Stiles could be," Deaton answered, piling some towels over the boy.

"Give me something! Why does he need to be dry?" Derek was getting mad now, he knew Deaton was lying about the research. He knew that Deaton knew the answers to his questions.

"Keep him dry beause I believe he is, in a way, allergic to the water. Similar to you and wolfsbane." Deaton spoke quickly, getting up and leaving the bathroom before Derek could ask anything else. Lydia was standing right outside the door, hearing all the commotion. 

"Everyone wants to come over immediately," She spoke shakily, looking down at the almost-naked form on the ground. Deaton rushed past her, packing his stuff in the living room.

"I will be back in about an hour, I need to confirm a few things," Deaton spoke, distracted as he rushed out the front door. Lydia turned back to Derek, who looked just as confused as herself.

"Well, explain this to me somehow," She finally got the confidence to speak.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

"He's allergic, to water?" Lydia questioned, watching as Stiles shifted on the couch, his body now covered in blankets.

"That's all I could get from Deaton. He's hiding something," Derek trailed off, deep in thought. Lydia nodded in agreement, "Oh, and the others are coming over. I couldn't tell them no." They were pack, and he knew that every member could feel the distress Stiles was under. It was hard to concentrate on anything else.

Stiles groaned, hissing as he stretched his legs out. Lydia and Derek kneeled next to him where he laid on the couch. "What the hell," Stiles hissed, grabbing at his head, a headache attacking him.

"Where does it hurt?" Lydia asked, and Stiles just shook his head.

"Everywhere" Stiles hissed in agony, his voice muffled by his hands, covering his face. After a few seconds, he pulled off the cloths covering him, becoming too hot for comfort. He heard Derek and Lydia gasp as they looked down at Stiles' legs and sides. 

Stiles looked down to see the red, flaming burns that covered his skin. He pulled himself into a sitting position with the help of Lydia, in shock as he surveyed his legs. "What?" Stiles murmured to himself as he lightly brought his fingertips over his legs, hissing in pain.

Derek grabbed his hands and pulled them away from the injuries. Black veins snaked up Derek's arms as he took majority of the pain.

"They are just burns, from when you took a bath," Derek spoke softly, and Stiles nodded dumbly as he tried to recall the bath. Being carried, the sound of the faucet turning on, then a blinding pain covering his body as he was laid down in the bathtub. "Deaton will be back over later. We'll show him this. The others are coming too," Derek updated Stiles, watching the conflicting emotions over the young boys' face. But, in the end, he only nodded.

Derek went to the kitchen and grabbed some food for the boy while Lydia sat next to Stiles, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Derek's phone rang, the noise making Stiles cover his ears in pain, fighting off a headache.

"Deaton." Derek spoke, trying not to sound angry at the emissary, but failing. He was so mad that Deaton couldn't share anything with him, couldn't tell him anything to help Stiles. "I've looked through almost every book I own, and found nothing matching his condition."

"Why the hell would you call me for this!" Derek seethed, wanting answers now. "I called because I found a scroll that may have some answers." Deaton spoke smoothly, Derek hearing the shuffling of paper over the line.

"Well, what does it say?! Anything?!" Derek growled, but stopped abruptly when the shuffling of paper stopped and Deaton's breathing turned uneven.

"I know what he is." Deaton voice was laced with what could only be known as a mix of fear, and surprise. Derek turned toward Stiles, watching as he zoned in and out, his body seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, as Lydia eyed him worriedly.

"Tell me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is out. How will the pack react to finding out about Stiles? and most importantly, how will Stiles react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for sticking with this! I love the support and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please comment any ideas you want to see in the future! Thanks!

"I would rather tell you in person." Deatons voice broke through the speaker of the phone, his emotion now masked. Derek growled in anger, "Be here in five minutes or I'm hunting you down," Derek hung up immediately, slamming his phone down on the kitchen counter.

"What did he say?" Lydia already knew the answer, but asked to break the tension.

"He will be here in a few minutes, he knows what Stiles is." Derek contained his anger as he walked back into the room, trying to remain calm for Stiles. Lydia nodded roughly, continuing to rub little circles on Stiles' back, Stiles hunched forward with his head in his hands. Derek couldn't sit still, pacing from the front door back to the couch over and over again, ready to murder Deaton. Then he heard a faint heart beat outside, and that stopped everything.

Derek nearly broke the door off its hinges as he pulled it open, watching the emissary stroll up the porch steps and into the house. He was carrying a different bag this time, smaller, but seeming to be made of old leather. Deaton didn't get two steps into the living room before Derek pinned him to a wall, glaring bullets into Deatons face.

"You are going to tell me what the hell Stiles is right now, or I'm going to rip your throat out, with my teeth." Derek seethed, but pulled back slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back to find Lydia pulling him back, she now standing behind him. "He's no good to us dead," she answered his enraged face. Derek only nodded, turning back to face Deaton.

"Yes. I was looking through this scroll," Deaton opened the small leather bag, pulling out an old paper, "and started to translate it from Arabic to English. It started talking of an elemental creature that possessed all the attributes that Stiles had. Burning at the touch of water, the glowing eyes. Some things haven't showed yet, but I'm sure this is what Stiles is." Deaton ended his small speech, Looking down at the paper, he started to recite a line of the ancient Arabic.

"أقوى, مارد. أقدم، الأكثر ذكاء من جميع الجن، التي تملك سلطة لا حدود لها وتنبعث من الدخان الأزرق.." Deaton stopped abruptly after seeing the annoyed face of Derek. He looked over to Lydia, seeing the knowing in her eyes. "You know Arabic, Ms. Martin?" Deaton asked, and Lydia nodded stiffly, looking back at the aching boy sitting on the couch.

"English please! Not all of us have the patience to learn every language," Derek growled as he looked between the two people. "It roughly translates to Stiles being one of the most powerful Djinni forms in existence," Lydia answered quietly enough for Stiles not to hear. Derek's eyes grew wide, his jaw minutely dropping as if he didn't believe the words.

"A Djinni? How is that even possible?" Derek hissed, his voice now emitting pure confusion and fear at things he didn't know. He had never heard of the creature outside of cartoons or fairytales.

"They are very rare, but most definitely real. You did say his eyes shown blue at one point? That is a sign of a Marid, a form of Djinni." Deaton explained, everything suddenly making sense. That was all Derek needed, all he wanted. He had finally gotten a straight answer out of the emissary. "We should tell him." Lydia whispered, the whole time having her eyes locked on the swaying boy. They all nodded and walked over to Stiles, Deaton kneeling down in front while the other two stood on the sides of Deaton.

"Stiles? Can you hear me?" Deaton asked as he brought a hand to Stiles' shoulder, a little bit of emotion coming up out of his tone. Stiles recoiled at the touch, his eyes darting up to Deaton's face in horror. "I heard everything," he spoke roughly, his voice hoarse from lack of use. Now they could add super hearing to the list of powers Stiles now had.

"So you know why we need to keep this secret, and why you need to lay low for a while. There hasn't been a Marid on Earth in hundreds of years, and once hunters figure out there is one, they will be looking for you." Deaton explained, his voice returning to the dull, emotionless state as usual. Stiles nodded, then looked up at his two friends, "But what about the power, you said it was limitless. That doesn't sound good." Stiles shuddered as a wave of cold hit him. He had been freezing ever since Deaton had touched his shoulder, knocking him out of his thoughts.

"We will deal with it when it comes," Derek shrugged, not seeing a big problem with having another powerful creature in the pack. Stiles still shook his head, noticing that no one was seeing his perspective, " But I'm only human, or was at least. How can I hold that power without, like, exploding?" Stiles voiced sarcasm, but it was laced with fear. "That won't happen, we won't let it. You can control," It seemed that Lydia's optimism was infectious, and soon Stiles relaxed and let the tension leave himself.

"The rest of the pack is here," Derek spoke, distracted as he pulled the front door open to the teens walking in. Scott, Liam, Isaac, and Kira rushed straight to the living room and into Stiles' personal space. They were bursting questions at him every second, not giving him a chance to even breathe. Derek and Deaton pulled them back, giving Stiles space, it looking like he was about to start panicking with the onslaught of teenagers suddenly in front of him.

"So does anyone have information about Stiles?" Scott immediately started, hating to see his best friend in distress. "You may want to sit down for this," Deaton spoke softly, waiting for all the teens to be situated before detailing all the information he had found. By the end of he speech, they all sat in silence, the only one moving Stiles, him fidgeting at everyone talking about him.

"So, like, a genie?" Kira asked, looking over to Stiles curiously. Deaton nodded. Liam immediately spoke up," Can he grant wishes?!" His excitement started to show, remembering back to his childhood and watching Aladdin. Isaac high-fived him, thinking of the endless possibilities of what he could wish for. 

"I'm not for sure if that lore is true, but we'll have to see when Stiles feels up to it," Stiles looked up at his friends, expecting rejection at his newfound supernatural abilities. But as he looked at his friends faces, all he saw was curiosity and awe.

"We're forgetting a valuable piece of information though. How did they create a djinni? That isn't a chimera," Scott spoke, everyone starting to run the question through their minds. "The only way I could find would be if he were injected with the essence of a genie. Otherwise he would have to be born with it. I'm guessing it's not the latter." Deaton chimed up, looking at the Arabic scroll in his hands.

"Let's worry about the details later, and for now just make sure Stiles is okay," Lydia scooted over next to Stiles and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. At this touch, he didn't pull back, but leaned in.

"I call watching a movie. We're all here and there's nothing we can do now until Stiles feels a little better." Scott hinted, getting up and going through the dozens of movies that stacked around the television before anyone gave him an answer. Soon enough, all of them were crowded on or around the couch, the scenes of Avatar flashing on the screen. By the time that movie ended and Thor had already started, it started to dim outside. No one had even realized that quite a few hours had passed between Deaton coming and now.

"We're staying tonight, make it a sleepover!" Scott nearly squealed, making Stiles smile. "Text your parents to make sure they know you're here." Derek reminded, not saying no to the group of teenagers as they started rushing around the loft to grab blankets and pillows. By the time the chaos had died down, a huge fort was settled in the middle of Derek's living room, with everyone underneath the blankets. Deaton had opted out of the sleepover, deciding to spent the night at his office with Derek on speed dial. 

Darkness settled over the group, more than the glow from the television screen, and within an hour everyone but Derek was out cold. Stiles was squished between Scott and Lydia on the cushioned floor, everyone else wrapped around them like a cocoon. Derek's last thought before sliding his eyelids closed into darkness was, 'I swear if something attacks us tonight, I'm ripping them apart with my teeth."

But of course, the pack never had the best luck. The window of the living room started to crack, seeming soundless as all the glass crashed to the ground. A man floated in, his eyes blazing with power and his body covered head-to-toe in black tattoos. Not even the wolves noticed until the threat was on top of them, throwing them in all different directions.

"Where is the Marid!?" his voice boomed through the room, his eyes blazing at each creature to spot the genie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the Arabic---  
> أقوى, مارد. أقدم، الأكثر ذكاء من جميع الجن، التي تملك سلطة لا حدود لها وتنبعث من الدخان الأزرق.  
> "The most powerful, the Marid. The oldest, most intelligent of all genies, possessing limitless power and emits blue smoke."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -"You need not know who I am, but I require the Djinn." the man brought his hand up in front of him once again, feeling the air around him. It seemed as if the oxygen was sucked out of everyone's lungs. 
> 
> All of the sudden, Stiles stood up as his body was shoved forward. It looked as if he was being controlled by a puppeteer. The mysterious man's eyes lit and with power as he brought the genie forward. Then, Stiles started to glow, the same blue hue as his eyes were earlier. 
> 
> Derek looked over, and the man's tattoos were glowing a demonic red.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get most of the mythology from the classes I've taken and the books I've read. The rest I made on my own to fit the story! Thanks for reading! I know I say that every chapter, but I truly am grateful that all of you take the time to read this!

Everyone was sprawled across the edges of the room, all their backs slammed onto the walls. The tattooed man stood in the middle, the smell of magic radiating off him.

"Give me the Djinn," He boomed through the room, eyeing everyone in the room. Derek stood immediately, "No! Why do you need him?" The man only shook his head with a feral grin.

"I have come to claim my creation. I heard that my assistants finally had a success in their," he paused to look for the right word, "research." That fueled a fire deep in the packs gut, raging out in the form of shifting into wolves and attacking the man full force. They all lunged forward, not bothering with questions. Any threat towards their friend warranted a fight. Even Kira went into fighting mode, wielding her deadly katana.

The man sidestepped as two wolves lunged in front of him, sliding around as they tried to make contact. No one could touch his as he seemed to glide around the floor, narrowly missing the sharp claws and the deathly blade. Soon though, he grew tired of the battle, the attackers not looking like they were going to give up anytime soon. He sighed and brought his hand up in front of him, clenching his fist abruptly. All at once, the chaos stopped, everyone falling to the ground. They seemed to be glued to the ground now, shifting and trying to stand, but only seeming to twitch in place.

"Who the hell are you!?" Derek growled under the weight of the magic holding him down, straining to look up at the man. The man just shook his head, an evil grin plastered on his face.

"You need not know who I am, but I require the Djinn." the man brought his hand up in front of him once again, feeling the air around him. It seemed as if the oxygen was sucked out of everyone's lungs. But he didn't need to sense the power of the genie, he could see the faint tattoos that littered the boys' body.

All of the sudden, Stiles stood up as his body was shoved forward. It looked as if he was being controlled by a puppeteer. Lydia tried grabbing at Stiles' arms, but her hands seemed to be glued to the ground by invisible chains. The mysterious man's eyes lit up with power as he brought the genie forward. Then, Stiles started to glow, the same blue hue as his eyes were earlier.

Derek looked over, and the man's tattoos were glowing a demonic red. The glow of red started to become more like smoke now, wisps circling around Stiles and the man, possessing the air around them. The blue and red smoke seemed to be fighting for dominance in the air around the two. No one could do anything as Stiles took the final step to face the man controlling him. Other than the iridescent blue in his irises, Stiles' eyes shows both pure fear and panic. He could still see what he was doing, see what was happing, he just couldn't control it.

"Ah, my Marid. What a pleasure to finally meet you." the man spoke deeply, putting his hands on Stiles' shoulders and looking into his eyes. He smiled as the red aura of his tattoos spread further around Stiles, slowly starting to cover his body. controlling him. Scott screamed at the man and Stiles, but Stiles couldn't hear it, the smoke covering his ears.

"I have big plans for you," the man whispered as he slid his hands to the sides of Stiles' face, surveying how the wisps of blue smoke circled his eyes. Stiles' eyes were glazed over now. Derek growled angrily, his eyes a deep red. The rest of the pack were in the same predicament, all seething in anger and panic.

"You're mine now," the mysterious man growled, finally seeing the final wisps of red smoke completely cover Stiles' body, effectively cutting off the blue hue. The man pulled his hands back from Stiles' face, grabbing his neck instead, looking like he was going to choke him. Everyone twitched in panic and fury, trying to break the magic binds.

Derek stopped squirming and stared in awe as the aura covering the older man started to move, sliding down both his arms. The smoky tendrils snaked down his hands and fingers, slipping off his fingertips and onto Stiles' neck, filling up the already dark tattoos Stiles possessed. Stiles gasped in pain as the red smoke etched itself down his neck, disappearing under his shirts and reappearing down his arms. They covered the former tattoos with an essence, a power, pushing out the friendlier blue tone. The sound of Stiles in pain knocked Derek and the others out of their frozen states, returning to their fight with the magic. It started to waver as the smoke covered more and more skin, starting to fade into the tattoos. Soon, the dark smoke was seen around Stiles' ankles, snaking into his shoes.

The man stepped back with a gasp as the final tendrils were placed on Stiles' body, hunched over with his hands on his thighs. He still had the black tattoos on himself, yet they held no more power, no more red hue. The magic wavered again as exhaustion hit the evil man, making him fall to his knees. Feeling a slight shift in the invisible binds, the pack pushed up and felt the magic dissipate. They rushed up and toward the man and Stiles, Derek catching Stiles as he fell, the magic no longer holding him up. Scott and the others, on the other hand, went straight for the tired man.

"It's too late, I am finished." the man spoke in a husky tone, a light smile over his face. Scott growled and pulled the man to the ground, effectively pinning him. The others crowded around, all in different states of anger.

"Kill me, it will make no difference," the man spoke, closing his eyes, the smile still over his features. Scott took that as his final words, not caring as he shredded his claws through the man's chest, killing him instantly. He felt no remorse, no pity for the dead man laying under him. As he stood up, Scott took a look at the faces of his friends. They all wore the same expression as him, feeling nothing for this death. Once the threat was gone, they all immediately turned to Stiles, who was being cradled by Derek. The red aura was still pulsing and moving under his skin, snaking over his limbs, stopping once they reaching his neck. There was no more blue.

Stiles groaned in pain, curling around himself, feeling as if he were on fire. He kept his eyes shut tight, his face scrunched up in agony. "Stiles, you're okay," Derek repeated over and over again, not sure whether he was talking to reassure Stiles, or himself. He tried to take the pain, but every time he tried, nothing would happen. He felt hopeless. The smoke seemed to be sucked in by the inked tattoos over Stiles' skin, retaining the dark power.

Scott fell to his knees next to the two, his hands hovering over Stiles as he started to panic, the adrenaline gone. Stiles hissed as he turned onto his side, grabbing at his shirt to stop if from rubbing on his skin. Seeing Stiles' thoughts, Derek grabbed his shirt and ripped it up the front, not bothering to try to take it off normally. A collective gasp sounded around the destroyed room, all watching the thick swirling smoke finally recede into Stiles' torso. They all expected the tattoos to be there, but seeing the smoke was a whole different story.

Stiles finally cracked his eyes open, looking up to see Scott's and Derek's faces hovering over his, their eyes glued to his face. "Wh't?" Stiles groaned again, his skin pulsing with pain. He tried to sit up, but his arms couldn't get under him and his body felt numb, and Derek's hand holding him down wasn't helping either.

"What happened?" Stiles finally spoke a coherent sentence, looking painfully between the two alphas, his eyes their normal color now. That broke everyone out of their dead silence; Isaac and Liam started to pick up the broken pieces of furniture and debris around the room while Kira left to the kitchen, phone already calling Deaton with the news. Lydia kneeled next to Scott, checking Stiles for any injuries, finding slight bruises where the mans' hands were holding his neck, as well as a cut on his head from where he initially landed.

Finally, the feeling of fiery pain flowed out of Stiles, making him slide deeper in Derek's grasp as the tension left him. He tried looking around, but Scotts hands made his face stop roaming. "Tell me what happened," Stiles spoke sternly, starting to panic as he watched Lydia and Scott look at each other uneasily. "Did I do this?" Stiles whispered, only seeing a broken chunk of wall out of the corner of his vision, and knowing there were probably more damage.

"No! None of this was your fault!" Derek immediately defended, catching Stiles' eyes with his own, keeping the eye contact. Stiles nodded stiffly, believing the wolf. But that still didn't answer why he had felt on fire. He smelt no smoke, nor remember seeing any flames. He remembers being slammed into a wall, standing in front of a man, then nothing. He could still feel a slight simmer over his skin, not as bad as before, but still noticeable. Stiles let his head fall into Derek's lap, closing his eyes.

"Why do I feel like 'm on fire?" Stiles asked tiredly. He reopened his eyes to see three faces staring at his intently, all showing varying degrees of horror. They didn't answer him.

"Did he just say it hurts?" Stiles heard voices behind Derek, trying to have their own conversation. He recognized Isaac's and Liam's voices. "Yeah, it looked pretty painful." Isaac answered Liam's original question. They thought Stiles couldn't hear him.

"What looked painful?" Stiles looked up at the surrounding faces, Scott's and Lydia's looking behind Derek, probably eyeing the two boys.

Stiles was done with the silent treatment now, fighting his exhaustion and pain as he forced himself to a sitting position, leaning heavily on Derek. After a few aching breaths, he opened his eyes, that he hadn't realized he closed, to look at what he could only describe felt like deep burns.

The air sucked out of his lungs as he stared at his bare torso, seeing the reason for the burning. They covered his whole body from the neck down. Deep, black tendrils of ink, glowing a dark red hue filled with what could only be described as energy. He wasn't surprised by the tattoos so much, as he was by the fact that they seemed to be pulsing, holding the red tinge. He didn't remember this last time he saw himself in the mirror. Before succumbing to unconsciousness, he heard a door open and rushed footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little rushed because I have so much more I want to write in this fic! Please give any ideas or suggestions on what you would like to see in the next chapters! Any thoughts on killing parts of the pack? Physically or mentally? Blue genies= good, so what do red mean?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner! I've been busy with school and tests and the stresses of life....so fun... Anyways I hope you enjoy and thanks! Ideas are always welcome! This is short and sweet because I have ideas for the future!

Deaton rushed through the door a mere minutes after Kira called him, already heading over anyways. He had felt the pull, the shift in power. Nothing good could have come from such an occurrence.

Everyone was crowding around the pale boy on the ground, it looked almost overwhelming, but Stiles didn't seem to mind. He probably didn't even realize they were all so close, his eyes closed and face slack. There was definitely something wrong with him though, his usual black ink now a deep, angry red. And it wasn't just inflammation.

"Deaton!" Scott nearly screamed and shot up from his position next to his brother, rushing over to the emissary and pulling him into the center of the small crowd of teens. "I'm going to need everyone to step back or leave now," Deaton spoke sternly, glaring up at the obnoxiously nervous group around him. Isaac, Kira, and Liam immediately complied, giving jittery glimpses to the still form of their friend on the ground as they walked out the door to wait on the porch. Lydia was less compliant, but ended up taking a seat on the overturned couch, a few feet away. Scott and Derek, on the other hand, hadn't moved an inch since Deaton said to, giving equally terrifying glares.

"Okay tell me everything," Deaton spoke almost tiredly. He was done with seeing part of his pack injured over and over again. Derek and Scott exchanged their views back and forth, the story starting to show. Deaton kneeled through the whole story, his fingers constantly pressing on Stiles' wrist, counting the beats of his heart. They were slow, but not enough to be dangerous.

"...and then the guy pulled Stiles in front of him, but he never touched him! He started choking him and this weird glow thing happened and..." Scott was nearly hysterical as he continued with his part of the story, and Derek stopped him with a hushed, "Calm down." Derek continued more clearly, "When he choked Stiles, his red aura smoke went into Stiles, kind of. It replaced the blue glow that Stiles usually had. Then the dude dropped after all the red was out of him, and Scott killed him." Derek shrugged, feeling no sympathy.

Deaton only nodded, then asked, "Where is the body?" He looked around and only saw a stray pool of blood behind him. "Liam and Isaac pulled him to the basement." Scott sniffled, his hand entwined with Stiles' limp digits. "I will need to see the man's body now," Deaton stood, waiting for one of the people in front of him to lead the way. When neither moved, he huffed and turned to Lydia, who had been listening in the whole time. "Fine," Lydia spoke roughly, slipping gracefully off the couch and toward a long hallway.

Lydia pushed a metal door open and lead Deaton down a set of stairs, flipping a light on as she went. The room was dimly lit, only containing chairs, chains, and piles of old dust. In the center was an older man, his chest in bloody ribbons and body covered in thick tattoos. They were similar to Stiles', yet they were dull and didn't radiate the power that Stiles' now held.

"Anything?" Lydia spoke impatiently, standing near the bottom of the steps with her arms crossed. "I've seen these tattoos before, and the ones on his neck are not speaking of anything uplifting," Deaton knew he had to translate all of the tattoos, the only words he could naturally decipher not being good signs. They walked back into the main living room, where Stiles was still laying on the ground in varying amounts of pain with the two wolves standing above him.

"I only know a little bit of what happened to Stiles. About the color change, that may be because of some type of power exchange. Though I'm not sure why one might exchange the power of a dark Marid for one of a normal Marid." Deaton threw himself deep into thought, thinking over his words. On the other hands, the ones left in the room were dying to know more, or literally anything that could help them.

"Okay so red means a dark Marid? We can handle that I guess, I mean we know what he is so we can figure how to deal with it! Right?" Scott tried reassuring his self but by the look in his eyes, it wasn't working at all. Anything with the word 'dark' in it was never too good or easy to deal with.

"It won't be that easy. There is little to no lore or information on dark Marids, more than they have more power than almost physically capable. Keep him safe and don't let him leave the house, I need to go find what I have of Djinnis," Deaton explained the best he could, leaving Derek and Scott as clueless as the start. Deaton left in a rush, the rest of the pack coming in once the door opened.

Derek and Scott helped Stiles stand off the ground, taking most of his almost unconscious weight and pulling him back to his spot on the couch. His eyes were swimming but as time went on, Stiles was becoming more and more lucid. After a while, he was able to keep his head up and his body from slumping on the couch, looking at his friends before settling his eyes on his own legs and torso, unable to look away.

"Hey stop staring; we'll figure this out! We've dealt with worse," Scott tried cheering up his best friend, but Stiles gave little response, only sighing as he traced a few vines intertwined around his wrist.


End file.
